


Give It Form

by Lauralot



Series: Alexander Pierce should have died slower [33]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bearvengers, Bugs & Insects, Gen, Lizards, Past Abuse, Sick Character, Storytelling, the trials and tribulations of Captain Ameribear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 16:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11039637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: Steve's stuck in bed again, just like when they were kids.Bucky tries to cheer him up.





	Give It Form

**"Sometimes reality is too complex. Stories give it form."**

—Jean Luc Godard

  


Steve isn’t allowed to get out of bed.

It reminds Bucky of the days when Steve was small and sick, half-remembered times that seem more like a dream than anything else now, considering how broad and strong Steve looks even after almost a week bedridden. Steve’s not small anymore.

He’s not really sick, either, other than sick of being cooped up.

“Don’t move,” Bucky says without looking up from his book. He can hear Steve shifting under the covers.

“Buck, if I can’t stretch my legs, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“If you do, your heart’s gonna give out,” Bucky counters, turning a page. “Which is worse?”

Steve’s heart wouldn’t actually give out, probably. Not unless he decides to run around or fight or do any of the other stupid things he usually does when he’s avenging. Bruce had assured Bucky about a billion times that Steve’s going to be fine. If he were really in danger, he’d be in the hospital. Bruce isn’t a medical doctor, but Tony had brought one in from Korea just to be sure. Her name was Helen, and she’d also said Steve would be okay, as long as he rests.

But just like when they were kids, Steve has no interest in resting.

Bucky doesn’t know all the specifics of what happened. Steve was exposed to some sort of chemical weapon on the last mission, and it makes his heart go out of rhythm whenever his adrenaline spikes or his pulse gets too fast. The Avengers figured out what was happening before it could get dangerous, and made Steve sit the rest of the mission out.

Bucky’s pretty sure they must have knocked him unconscious or something. He can’t imagine any other way Steve would be willing to stay behind.

Bruce and Helen analyzed Steve’s blood and said that he’d be fine. That the chemical would naturally lose its potency on its own. He just has to avoid pretty much all physical exertion until that happens.

Which means somebody has to watch him like a hawk all the time, or otherwise Steve would have to be tied to the bed.

“It’s been a week,” Steve protests. He shifts, but Bucky glares over his book and Steve doesn’t move beyond straightening up against the headboard.

“Until Bruce clears you, you’re not going anywhere,” Bucky says. He’d been reading to Steve, but Steve asked him to stop. He didn’t say so, but Bucky can remember reading to Steve sometimes when he was coughing too much for either of them to sleep, and maybe being read to now reminds him of that. Of being small and in pain all the time. Or even of the way their lives used to be before they both ended up in the ice and woke to find almost everything familiar was gone.

Steve huffs, letting his head sink back against the pillows. Neither of them speaks, and for a few minutes the only sound in the room is the faint beep of Steve’s heart monitor.

“Want to watch a movie?” Bucky offers.

He gets a headshake in reply. They’ve been marathoning movies and shows pretty much all week, and it must eat at Steve to have to sit there and watch other people do things. Just like when he was a kid.

“I could get you a book?”

“I should try and get some sleep, I guess.” Steve picks at a loose thread on his sheet. He’s not tired and they both know it. He can only get out of bed to use the bathroom, and he must be bursting with all that energy building up.

“You could draw.” Steve’s sketchbook is there on the nightstand, along with two sets of pencils: one in all kinds of colors, and the other all black, with different kinds of lead in each pencil.

Steve shakes his head again. Back before the war, there were days when he felt too bad to sketch anything. Sometimes it was because of a virus he’d caught, or some flare up of pain. Other times, Steve was just too depressed. “I don’t have any ideas.”

Bucky bites his lip. He can’t just sit by and let Steve be miserable until the threat in his blood burns out. Steve did everything he could to keep Bucky’s spirits up and his body breathing the last time Bucky was sick. “I do.”

“What?”

Bucky closes his book, standing. He makes his way to the bedside and sits down on the edge of the mattress, handing Steve his sketchbook. “I’ll tell a story and you draw it, all right? You’re better than half the illustrators in my picture books anyway.”

There’s a pause and Bucky tries not to wring his hands. He’s out of ideas if Steve says no, and he doesn’t want to hover. Steve used to hate that.

But Steve says “Okay,” and he opens the sketchbook to the first blank page, creasing back the old pages so they won’t flop over in the way.

Great. Now if only Bucky had bothered to think up a story before he made the offer. He scrambles for an idea and blurts out, “It starts with Captain Ameribear.” Bears are easy. He makes up missions for the Bearvengers all the time. Except telling an adventure story now might make Steve feel as bad as all the movies have. It seems rude to send his bear avatar out on a mission when Steve has to lay around like an invalid. “He’s—uh, he’s sick.”

“With what?” Steve asks. He’s made some faint circles on the paper—probably the basic form of Ameribear’s body—but now he stills the pencil, looking expectant.

“Moths.”

“Moths?”

“They’re flying around inside his stuffing and it feels weird,” Bucky explains. Maybe he should have said beetles. Do moths even like cotton? _Too late to change it now_ , he decides, barreling on. “He took medicine to make them stop, but he can’t run around until the moths go away. Otherwise, it won’t work right.”

Steve gives Bucky a look, and Bucky braces himself for a lecture on how Steve will save his personal struggles for his therapist, thanks, he’s not going to make his bear self suffer too. But all Steve says is, “Tell me Clint hasn’t been showing you Cronenberg movies again.”

“Carpenter,” Bucky corrects. Anyway, Clint didn’t show him _The Thing_ on purpose. He just had it on when Bucky stopped by to see Lucky. Bucky had only watched a couple of scenes.

“Whatever.”

“Just draw the bear, Steve.”

Steve draws Ameribear hunched up in bed, sticking his head out from under the blankets. The blankets are wrinkled and bunched, like Ameribear’s done a bunch of kicking around, and Ameribear’s mouth is in a wavy line because he feels really uncomfortable. His paws are squeezing on the sheets.

“Okay.” Steve sets his pencil down. “Now what?”

It takes Bucky a second to remember that he’s telling the story. He’d been so caught up in watching Steve draw that he’d forgotten the picture was his suggestion in the first place. “Okay. Uh, so Hulk Bear comes in to check on Ameribear, except he’s not the Hulk when he does…”

*

“You’re doing better,” Doctor Bearner said. His stethoscope was ice cold, and Captain Ameribear tried not to shiver all over. His paws twitched, but Dr. Bearner didn’t tell him to stay still, so paw-twitching must not interfere with the stethoscope. “But I can still hear some moths in your fluff.”

Captain Ameribear groaned loudly.

Doctor Bearner straightened up, taking the stethoscope out of his ears. “You have to stay in bed until the moths are all gone,” he said. “Otherwise, it’ll take even longer to get rid of them.”

Captain Ameribear pulled the covers up over his face and rolled around on the bed. “I can’t bear to stay here another minute!” he cried. “I’m a Bearvenger! There’s adventure in my every stitch! I can’t rest knowing that there are bears out there who need me! I can’t sit still unless I’m in ice and if I have to lay here any longer I’m going to blow up!”

Doctor Bearner didn’t look impressed. “You can blow up as long as you stay in the bed.”

“I’d rather do another USO tour than stay here,” Captain Ameribear muttered.

*

Steve’s only halfway through drawing Hulk Bear’s otoscope, but he puts his pencil down. “I would _not_ ,” he protests. “And I’m not over the top like that, that’s Iron Bear.”

“Whose story is this?” Bucky crosses his arms. He shifts on the bed, settling against the headboard with Steve. “Keep drawing, or I’ll get out Tony’s old USO tapes.”

*

“Dancing is definitely not prescribed,” Doctor Bearner said. He left Captain Ameribear to his moaning and shook his head at Bucky Bear on the way out.

Bucky Bear could remember the times before Captain Ameribear got restuffed, when he was small and lived in a drafty apartment, and his cotton fluff always got mildewed. Captain Ameribear had been very dramatic back then, too.

“This is unbearable,” Captain Ameribear said. “I’ve read all the books and I’ve watched all the clouds out the window and I’ve memorized every crease in the wallpaper! I’ve played so many games of Solibear that the cards are worn out! There’s nothing to _do_!”

“Clouds change,” Bucky Bear said.

Captain Ameribear just grumped against the pillows.

“Do you want more soup?” Bucky Bear asked. Pepper Bear had made a very nice carrot and honey soup when she heard about the moths.

*

“Carrot and _honey_?” Steve repeats.

“Bears have different tastes,” Bucky informs him. “You’re lucky it wasn’t salmon and blueberry.”

*

“If I have any more soup, carrots will come out of my ears!” Captain Ameribear insisted. “I’ve got to do something, Bucky Bear! I’m going bearserk just lying around!”

“I have an idea,” Bucky Bear said, but before he’d even finished his sentence, there was a knock on the door.

Falcon Bear was standing in the hall. He didn’t have his wings on, so Bucky Bear let him in. He wasn’t about to let anyone fly off with Captain Ameribear when his friend had to stay in bed.

“Hey Cap,” Falcon Bear said. “I heard you were feeling blue. I’ve got just the thing for that.”

“If it’s soup, I’ll throw it out the window,” Captain Ameribear warned.

“It’s not soup,” Falcon Bear said. “Why would I bring you soup when Pepper Bear makes the best carrot and honey soup of all time?”

Captain Ameribear made loud suffering noises.

“What did you bring?” Bucky Bear asked.

“Redwing!” Falcon Bear stepped to the side so Redwing could fly into the room. The bird swooped around the ceiling with a loud caw. He glided on his wings and even rolled over in the air before landing on the headboard.

“See?” Falcon Bear smiled. “Redwing can do all kinds of tricks to cheer you up!”

“And poop on our heads,” Bucky Bear muttered.

But Captain Ameribear smiled. “Thanks, Falcon Bear.”

Then Redwing started to peck at Captain Ameribear’s head.

“Hey!” Captain Ameribear cried.

“Redwing, no!” Falcon Bear said.

“I think Redwing should leave.” Bucky Bear shooed the bird toward the hall.

“Sorry,” Falcon Bear said, following after. “He says moths are delicious.”

Bucky Bear closed the door.

“Now my head _and_ my stuffing hurts,” Captain Ameribear moaned. “This is pawsibly the worst day of my life!”

*

Steve groans, shaking his head. “Why do you even know this many bear puns?”

“Most of my friends are teddy bears.” Bucky toes his shoes off before pulling his legs up onto the bed. “I like to panda to my audience, what can I say?”

Steve whaps him with a spare pillow.

*

“I think you’re being overly dramatic,” Bucky Bear said.

“My fur will fall out if I don’t find something to do!” Captain Ameribear cried.

“I have an idea,” Bucky Bear said, but before he’d even finished his sentence, there was a knock on the door.

This time, it was Hawkbear in the hall. He didn’t have his dog with him, so Bucky Bear let him come in. Bucky Bear wasn’t sure if dogs liked the taste of moths, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Hey Ameribear,” said Hawkbear. “I’ve got a present to cheer you up!”

Captain Ameribear frowned. “It’s not a hawk, is it?”

“No,” said Hawkbear. “I’ve never seen a hawk around the tower, actually. There’s some pigeons on the roof if you wanna—”

“No,” Captain Ameribear and Bucky Bear said at the same time.

“Okay. Lemme know if you change your minds. Anyway, I brought you some coffee!” Hawkbear pulled a Bearbucks cup out of his quiver. “Well, espresso. I even got the bearista to draw your shield in the foam!”

Bucky Bear doubted that the foam had stayed intact on Hawkbear’s walk back to the tower.

But Captain Ameribear smiled and put out his paw. “Thanks, Hawkbear.”

Hawkbear tripped over his own shoelace and the espresso ended up on Captain Ameribear’s head. The foam definitely didn’t look like a shield anymore.

“Sorry!” Hawkbear said.

Bucky Bear shooed him out the door and then got some towels.

*

“When did you get to be such a sadist?” Steve asks. His Ameribear drawing looks so pouty and miserable and utterly drenched.

Bucky shrugs. “Stories are boring without conflict. That’s why Aurora pricks her finger and Ariel loses her voice and stuff.”

“Why am I the one with all the conflict?”

“’Cause you get so huffy about it. It’s hilarious.”

This time, Bucky dodges the pillow.

*

“Now my head and my stuffing hurts and I’m sticky!” Captain Ameribear wailed. “I can’t stand it!”

Bucky Bear put a towel over Captain Ameribear’s head. “Take a moment to get your bearings,” he said. “The coffee will come out.”

“And I’ll still be stuck here with the moths! I’m so bored!”

“I have an idea,” Bucky Bear said, but before he’d even finished his sentence, there was a knock on the door.

Thor Bear stood in the hall. “GREETINGS, MY SWORN BROTHERS,” he said loudly. “I HAVE HEARD THAT CAPTAIN AMERIBEAR IS ENTWINED IN A MOST STRENUOUS BATTLE AGAINST SAVAGE WINGED BEASTS.”

Captain Ameribear pulled the blankets over his head.

“He has a headache,” Bucky Bear said.

“OH,” said Thor Bear. “My deepest apologies. But fear not, my small Midgardian friend!”

“I’m _not_ small,” Captain Ameribear said from under the blankets.

“Fear not!” Thor Bear repeated. “I come bearing the cure for your ailment!”

Captain Ameribear peeked out from under the duvet.

“If it’s a bird or a caffeinated beverage, he’s not interested,” Bucky Bear said.

“I bear neither of those,” Thor Bear said. He pulled Mjölnir from his belt and held it up in his paw. “Behold!”

“How is your hammer supposed to help me?” Captain Ameribear asked, sitting up in the bed.

“These moths have never gone up against an Asgardian weapon!” Thor Bear explained. “They will stand no chance! Soon, the air will be thick with the sounds of their last, agonized breaths!”

He walked toward the bed and Captain Ameribear got back under the covers.

“You’re not hitting Captain Ameribear with your hammer,” Bucky Bear said, shoving Thor toward the hall. “Or hitting him bear-handed either. Out.” Then Bucky Bear closed the door and leaned against it, _oso_ annoyed.

“Now this is pawstively the worst day of my life!” Captain Ameribear cried.

*

Steve’s stopped drawing now to focus his efforts on moaning loudly at the latest bear pun. And he tries to say he’s not overly dramatic. Bucky rolls his eyes.

That’s when the elevator chimes and Sam comes in with a tray of food. “Hey guys,” he says. “I brought lunch.”

There’s two plates on the tray, one for Steve and one for Bucky. Sam doesn’t have a plate for himself, so either he’s already eaten or he’s not planning on sticking around.

It must be the former because Sam settles down in the chair where Bucky had been reading before he started the bear story. “So what are you two doing?”

“Bucky’s torturing me,” Steve says, and then jams a bite of sandwich into his mouth, probably to keep from pouting.

“ _I’m_ telling a story so he can draw pictures instead of whining about how he’ll die of boredom,” Bucky corrects. “I’m the one with the hard job and he’s just mad because good stories have drama.”

“Good stories don’t heap misfortune on just one bear!”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up.” Sam leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I’ve gotta hear about this bear drama. It sounds great.”

Steve sighs as Bucky starts the story up again.

*

“At least this time you didn’t get hit or pecked or soaked,” Bucky Bear said.

“But my head hurts and I was threatened with a hammer and my fur’s still sticky and there’s still moths!”

“I won’t let any more ridiculous bears in here,” Bucky Bear said. “I’ll be prebeared to block them if they come back.”

*

“Pre _bear_ ed?” Steve demands.

“All the true masters of writing have a gift for word play,” Bucky says. “It’s not my fault I’m talented.”

“I think it’s beariffic,” Sam says. A few seconds later, he’s the one dodging a pillow.

“I hate you both.”

“Just draw the bears, Steve.”

*

“I’m still so bored!” Captain Ameribear whined. “I’d rather hibernate than sit here with nothing to do!”

“I have an idea,” Bucky Bear said, but before he’d even finished his sentence, there was a knock on the door.

This time, Bucky Bear just opened the door a tiny bit. Bear Widow was standing in the hallway. Bear Widow wasn’t a ridiculous bear, so Bucky Bear opened the door to let her in.

“Hello, Captain Ameribear,” Bear Widow said. She sat down on the foot of the bed and started rummaging through her purse. “Are the moths still bothering you?”

Captain Ameribear nodded. The fur on his head stuck up in funny ways because of the coffee. “Doctor Bearner says I can’t get out of bed until they’re all gone.”

“In Russia, we have remedies we try before we even see a doctor,” Bear Widow said. She took a small jar from her purse. There was a yellow powder inside.

“What’s that?” Bucky Bear asked.

“Mustard powder,” Bear Widow said, unscrewing the lid.

“I don’t want mustard in my soup!” Captain Ameribear protested.

“It’s not for your soup,” Bear Widow said. “It’s for your socks.”

“My _what_?”

“Putting mustard powder in your socks will keep your paws warm,” Bear Widow said. She tugged on the end of the blankets, trying to expose Captain Ameribear’s legs.

“I’m not wearing socks!”

“I also have zelyonka,” Bear Widow continued. “It’s an antiseptic that’s very popular in Russia. I’m sure it will get rid of your moths. But you can’t swallow it. And if it gets in your eyes, you might go blind.”

“I don’t want it!” Captain Ameribear said.

“Also, it will dye your fur green for a time.”

“Absolutely not!” Captain Ameribear said.

Bear Widow ignored him, putting a little green bottle on the nightstand. “I’ll be back with tea,” she said, standing up. “It has garlic and onion and will draw the moths out faster.”

She walked out the door, and Bucky Bear closed and locked it behind her.

Captain Ameribear just put a pillow over his face and moaned.

Bucky Bear had to admit the situation was getting grizzly.

*

Steve makes a noise like he’s in pain. The sketchbook has been set aside in favor of putting his hands over his face and moaning.

Bucky and Sam high-five.

*

“There are moths in my stuffing,” Captain Ameribear said quietly. “And my head hurts. And there’s coffee all over me. And I almost got hit with a hammer and I almost got dyed green and this is the beary worst day.”

“I locked the door,” Bucky Bear said. “No one else is getting in.”

Captain Ameribear sighed. “Now we’re stuck with nothing to do again.”

“I have an idea,” Bucky Bear said, but before he’d even finished his sentence, Iron Bear flew in through the window.

“Hey there, Roach Motel!” Iron Bear said.

“Go away,” said Bucky Bear.

“They’re _moths_ ,” said Captain Ameribear at the same time.

“Now’s not the time to split hairs!” Iron Bear was hovering in the room and getting exhaust everywhere. He had a box in his paws. Bucky Bear looked around for a broom or mop or something else to use to push him back through the window. “I can get those fuzzy little freeloaders out of you in no time at all!”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Captain Ameribear said.

Iron Bear ignored him. “Bear with me,” he said, powering down his suit and landing on the floor. “I know this is going to seem weird.”

“Weirder than anything else you do?” Bucky Bear asked as Iron Bear put the box on the bed.

“Just trust me,” Iron Bear said. “This is one hundred percent bearanteed to get the moths out. It’s imclawsible for it to fail.” He opened the box.

A lizard poked its head out.

“Iron Bear!” Captain Ameribear said.

“Lizards eat moths, see,” Iron Bear explained. Lizards poured out of the box, scrambling over the bedspread and surrounding Captain Ameribear. “I figure they’ll snatch up all the moths in you in just a few minutes, and then you’ll be back to being a perfectly preserved, stuffy relic!”

Bucky Bear took a running start and knocked Iron Bear out the window. Then he started scooping lizards back into the box.

“Why would he do this?” Captain Ameribear asked. There was a lizard on his head.

“I don’t want to know where he gets his bearzarre ideas,” Bucky Bear said. He took the last lizard off of Captain Ameribear’s head and closed the box again. It had air holes in the sides, but the lizards were too big to get through them.

Captain Ameribear slumped against the pillows. “There were creepy lizard feet all over me,” he said miserably. “I just want to get out of this bed so everyone will stop being weird.”

Bucky Bear checked to make sure the window was locked. “I have an idea,” he said. “You’ll probably want to wash all the coffee off your paws and head first, though.”

Captain Ameribear didn’t even look up. “I don’t want any more animals.”

“My idea doesn’t have anything to do with falcons or lizards or anything alive,” Bucky Bear said.

“I don’t want any mustard or coffee either.”

“It’s nothing to do with food,” Bucky Bear said. “Or hammers or any of that. That’s the problem. Everybody’s just focusing on how you’re stuck in bed and it’s not helping at all.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Captain Ameribear asked. “I _am_ stuck in bed.”

“Remember in the second Honeycomb War?” Bucky Bear asked. “How the bears who got stung and couldn’t fight anymore would knit ear warmers and scarfs for the bears on the front lines? So they could still help?”

Captain Ameribear’s ears perked up a little. “Yeah?”

“Well, I know your mother taught you how to knit,” Bucky Bear said. “And I know you’ve got yarn and needles somewhere around here. Maybe you could make a scarf or mittens and we could give it to bearity. At least it would pass the time.”

For a minute, Captain Ameribear was quiet and Bucky Bear worried that maybe he was feeling too bad and mothy to do any knitting. But then Captain Ameribear sat up, straightening out his blankets.

“That’s a good idea, Bucky Bear,” he said. “Thanks.”

Bucky Bear’s ears felt red. “Where do you keep your yarn?” he asked.

“First I need to wash my fur,” Captain Ameribear said. He tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed, but Bucky Bear was glowering at the bedside in an instant.

“I’ll get a washcloth,” Bucky Bear said. “You stay put.”

Captain Ameribear settled back in the bed with a frown, but once he got into the rhythm of knitting a warm, ribbed scarf, Bucky Bear was sure he saw the faintest hint of a smile.

*

“The end,” Bucky announces. He puts his arms behind his head, sinking into the pillows.

“So I spend a day getting tortured and then make clothes for someone else,” Steve says, but at least he’s not frowning as much as he was before the story. Or cringing over bear puns. Even if the cringing had been hilarious.

“At least knitting’s productive.” And he’s watched Steve lose himself in it for well over an hour before, focused so intensely on the needles that nothing else seemed to exist. That was before the war, but Bucky’s seen him knit a few times in the tower, too. “You should try it. Not like there’s much else you can do.”

“Maybe I will,” Steve says.

Sam’s looking through Steve’s sketchbook, studying all the miserable little bears over the last few pages. “Have you ever thought of writing this stuff down, Bucky?”

Bucky snorts. “I don’t think anyone’s gonna want to read the Winter Soldier’s sadistic bear adventures.” Sure, millions of people watched his charity video, and the few interviews he’s given about the charity have had a huge number of hits. But that’s not because he’s stunningly eloquent or anything. They just wanted to hear the Winter Soldier’s own words, is all. No one would care about his bear stories. They’d just want to know what the fucked up assassin forced into ageplay would think children’s stories are like.

“Well, I liked it,” Sam says. “It was cute. And if you got that stuff all typed up and edited with Steve’s pictures, I think you’d do pretty well.”

Bucky flushes, shaking his head. He’s pretty sure that Sam’s idea of cute is warped by all the nonsense the Avengers deal with. “I’m not hard up for money.”

“You could give the proceeds to bearity,” Steve mutters. He’s smirking. This is his payback for all the puns and the suffering of Ameribear, clearly. Now he’s encouraging this ridiculousness.

“You’d have to draw it,” Bucky points out.

“I’m serious,” Sam says. He puts the sketchbook back on the bed and collects their empty plates on the tray. “I mean, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but just think about it, all right? I think you’ve really got something here.”

Then he’s off, headed back to the elevators before Bucky can even protest.

“All I’ve got are terrible puns,” Bucky says.

“I like your stories.” Steve’s picked his pencil back up, crosshatching Captain Ameribear’s sheets. “Even when you’re an ass. Kids would probably like ‘em too, if you toned down the parasites.”

Bucky opens his mouth to protest. It’s a miracle he hasn’t screwed Freddie up beyond repair yet, and his niece is just one kid. Hell, Natasha’s an adult and he’s managed to stomp all over her issues in her little space without even trying. Who knows what kind of damage he could do to every little child wandering around a library? No way. And the bear stories aren’t even all that good.

But then he thinks about some of the books he got in his first days at the tower.

After everyone found out what Bucky had been through, in the time they spent with him while Steve was still trying to adjust to being a daddy, the adults had read to Bucky a lot. And not just from the book of fairytales that Natasha gave to him. There were picture books about kids who were trying to cope with terrible things. Picture books about kids who felt unloved. Even stories about kids who’d been used by adults. He’s not sure where the books came from. Maybe it was Sam’s idea, or maybe Tony or Pepper had researched books for traumatized kids or something.

Those books are still on his shelf. There are days when his memories are too raw and painful and Bucky can’t even stand to look at stories about that stuff. But there are other days when it helps, reminding him that he’s not completely alone even with his bizarre circumstances. In those early days, it had helped a lot, knowing there were kids sort of like him.

And Bucky can remember the words on the back of one of those books, proclaiming that it was to benefit some children’s charity. That it had been written _for_ the charity itself.

He wonders if his own fucked up stories could help another kid. He wonders if parents would let their kids anywhere near it.

“Maybe,” Bucky says, more to himself than to Steve. He leans back against the pillows. “Maybe it could work.”

**Author's Note:**

> When Bucky mentions the last time he got sick, it's a reference to the APSHDS spinoff fic, [_GII.4_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8087227/chapters/18531793) by [OMOWatcher.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OMOWatcher/pseuds/OMOWatcher)
> 
> [Carrot and honey soup](http://www.food.com/recipe/cream-of-carrot-and-honey-soup-352567) is a real thing, though I've never had it. So I can't vouch for its taste.
> 
> Captain Ameribear was not burned by the espresso. Just drenched.
> 
> _Oso_ annoyed: Perhaps the most groan-worthy of all my puns. _Oso_ is Spanish for bear.
> 
> [Mustard powder in socks](https://understandrussia.com/home-remedies-2/) really is a Russian folk remedy, as is [zelyonka](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brilliant_green_\(dye\)).
> 
> I have no idea if lizards actually eat moths or not.
> 
> Come say hello on [Tumblr](http://lauralot89.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
